[At his name, this silly little term of endearment, he blinks for the first time in what feels like hours. His eyes feel sore. The book is softly shut and set aside, and for a while he’s lost in his attempts to read into Zevran’s tone.]

Do you remember… [He begins musingly, looking skyward.] Long ago, when we stood by the bath and you had asked me... if that was all there would ever be?

[For a moment he considers extending a mute invitation for him to join him by the fire but then he makes things simpler, rising slowly to his feet as if not having had reason to stand in some time. With only an arm’s length between them, he stops, worn, haunted eyes fondly tracing the features he has long since memorized. There’s a gnawing sensation, a cold queasiness deep in the pit of his stomach that no amount of numbing drink could reach. ]

…do you?

[He asks again, and doesn’t make a demand of it. Not this time. His low, almost toneless voice holds something rare, something so close to defeat, and what little remains of his self-respect has him cracking a thin, lopsided smile. But this comes too late, too.]

You need not say a word.

[Please.]